The Passion of Needy
by Diablo Priest
Summary: What happens to Needy after she kills the members of Low Shoulder. Femslash
1. Chapter 1

Rated: T [PG] for foul language and violence.

Based on characters and situations from the movie written by Diablo Cody and directed by Karyn Kusama. Original characters are my creations and completely fictitious.

The Passion of Needy by Diablo Priest

Part I

It was five minutes to eleven, all the volunteers had left, all the hopeless people—the indigents, alcoholics, addicts, mentally disturbed, and homeless had gone for the night; and Father Paulson, as usual, was locking the front door of the Third Street Soup Kitchen and Mission. Off in the distance, sirens pierced the chilly night air of the city. Suddenly someone tried to open the door, Father Paulson grabbed the bar tightly.

"Sorry, we're closed for the night."

Despite his efforts, the door opened violently; a tremendous blow knocked him down, and the door slammed loudly.

Father Paulson lay on the cold floor, stunned. As he regained his senses, he heard someone breathing loudly, as if they had run a long distance. He turned his head and saw a pair of dirty fuzzy pink bunny slippers.

He looked up and saw a small blonde girl, fifteen or sixteen years old, he thought. She was wearing an orange jumpsuit and a hoodie. He almost laughed. How did an escaped teenager from juvenile detention wind up here in the middle of the night, he thought. His laugh was strangled, by the sight of blood. It was splattered all over her. The strangest sight, however, was the nimbus that appeared around the girl's head; surely this was an optical illusion caused by the florescent lights overhead and his unusual view from the floor. Before he could be frightened, the girl slumped against the wall.

Getting slowly to his knees, Father Paulson asked, "Are you all right?"

There was no reply.

He got up and reached for the girl.

She shot him a look of rage and growled, "Don't touch me, priest!"

He took a step back. "Are you hurt?"

"Are you?" she asked mockingly.

"No," he answered, "but you are very strong."

"More than you know," she said panting.

"You're out of breath, and you must be thirsty; do you want something to drink?"

"What's the catch, priest?"

"There's no catch. You are obviously in trouble—I try to help souls in trouble."

"I could use a drink," she said.

"Come in."

"And something to eat?"

"Come in."

She sat down at one of the folding tables in the large hall, which reminded her of the school cafeteria. Father Paulson disappeared in back, and reappeared with a cup of orange juice in one hand and a half-gallon carton in the other. The girl took the carton and swallowed it down like a football player.

"Take it easy," Father Paulson said. "We only serve 150 meals a day here."

"Don't worry, I'll save some for the bums. Now get me something to eat."

"I don't take commands from you," he said with a firm tone.

The girl almost said something to him, but then she merely sighed and gazed out the window at the front of the hall, gazed into the black night. "Please," she said in a small voice and dropped her gaze to the table.

He smiled, a handsome smile aged by years with the hopeless. He disappeared into the back again.

Above the counter on the wall hung a large Crucifix, the head of Jesus turned to the right side. She thought of the last time she had seen her friend—the friend she had stabbed in the heart—and began to cry. She had never cried for her friend before, but now the tears flooded out. During all the months she had spent in Leech Lake Women's Correctional Hospital, she never once cried for the life-long friend she had lost.

She heard Father Paulson returning with her food, and she choked off her tears somehow.

"You've been crying."

"Mind your own business, priest." Her mask of hostility returned.

"Okay, you'll tell me about it when you're ready."

"I'm not telling you shit!"

"As you wish."

He started the sign of the Cross.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"We always pray here before meals."

"Go to hell."

"I'm not forcing you to pray."

"Damn right," she said. "It does no good, anyway."

"So you have prayed."

"Nice try, priest," she said with a grin. "I'm still not telling you anything."

She wolfed down her meal.

"Do you have a place to stay tonight?"

The girl said nothing.

"The weatherman said it's going to be in the twenties tonight, and I know that the shelter for run-away girls is full."

"I'm not a runaway."

"Still, whatever trouble you're in, you need help, you can't face it alone."

"Why should I trust you? And why are you trying to help me?"

He touched his collar. "It's kind of my job." And he smiled again.

She rose from her chair and turned away.

"Look," Father Paulson said, "if I wanted to turn you in, I could have phoned the police when I got you the orange juice or food. You're not going to be safe out there tonight. I don't know what you're involved in, but from all the blood—it must be serious. You know they'll be looking for you. I offer you sanctuary for the night. Well, 'sanctuary' may be a fancy word for it—I offer you the old couch in my office. It's in the back."

She looked at him and said nothing. It was a strange offer, and she knew that evil could be concealed in unexpected places. Their eyes met: the light of the nimbus appeared in his mind's eye; and for a moment, she thought that she was looking into the eyes of the courageous, gentle, fallible boy who had once loved her. The priest gestured to the back of the mission. After showing her the office, he bid her goodnight and left, saying he would return early in the morning. The office was simple. There was a desk, a name plate on it, a chair, the phone, a filing cabinet, and the old couch, above which hung a picture of Jesus with several lambs at his feet and a dove above his head. There was a picture on the desk too. It was of a girl, dressed in white, who looked like an angel. The photograph was haunting, not least because it reminded the girl of her dead friend.

"Jennifer? Oh, Jennifer." the girl said out loud and erupted into violent sobs. She curled up on the couch and cried herself to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Rated: T [PG] for foul language and violence.

Based on characters and situations from the movie written by Diablo Cody and directed by Karyn Kusama. Original characters are my creations and completely fictitious.

The Passion of Needy by Diablo Priest

Part II

In the morning, Father Paulson arrived before dawn and was surprised to find the mysterious blonde girl awake and alert.

"Wow, you're up early."

"I heard you coming."

"What would you like for breakfast?"

"Nothing."

"Oh, I know you ate a lot last night, but you must have breakfast."

"I don't need to eat everyday."

"You must keep up your fantastic strength and superior senses."

"They're just fine."

"Were you bitten by a radioactive spider or something."

"Or something."

He told her that the volunteers and community service workers would arrive soon to begin work on breakfast for the homeless. She had to stay hidden in the office and not make noise. Then he left her and began his day's work helping the hopeless.

Shortly after eight o'clock four detectives appeared. One handed Father Paulson a photograph of the mysterious blonde girl. For some reason, it had a large red X in the upper right corner. The priest studied the picture and prepared to lie in order to protect this girl whom he did not know. But somehow, he knew it was the right thing to do. He had faith.

Lt. Romano explained that the girl was Anita "Needy" Lesnicki; that she was wanted in connection with five homicides last night—five members of the popular rock band Low Shoulder had been killed in their hotel suite; that she had escaped from a state mental institution in Minnesota; that she had murdered her friend Jennifer Check and her boyfriend Chip Dove; that she had killed three other boys and cannibalized them; and that she had begun her crime spree by setting fire to a night club—a fire that killed twelve people; and that during all this, she had been trying to summon a demon from hell. She was insane, violent, and extremely dangerous; and had been seen, the cop said, fleeing down this street last night about eleven o'clock.

The priest shook his head. "No, I never saw her."

When the police left, Father Paulson told James, one of the volunteers, that he had to make an important phone call, and that he was not to be disturbed. He went to his office and was startled to find Needy standing behind the door with his letter opener.

"Lord! You frightened me."

"You didn't give me away," she said.

"No, I promised you sanctuary," he said. "Please put the letter opener down, Needy."

She walked over to the desk and put the letter opener down. Her gaze fell on the picture of the haunting angel girl. The beautiful girl that looked like Jennifer.

"We have to get you out of here before you're discovered," he said.

"We?"

"You and me—I just lied to the cops, so I'm aiding a fugitive. I don't think sanctuary is legal anymore, and I'm not about to call the diocese's lawyer to inquire about it either. I'm in this up to my neck now."

"I'm sorry," Needy said. "I'm really sorry."

"Of course I could always claim it was a matter of confession."

"That would help?"

"It's completely confidential—sacred. Only God may know."

"Okay," Needy said. "I'll confess. I owe you that much."

He opened one of the desk drawers and took out his stole, and put it over his shoulders. "All right, my child…"

Needy told him in stark detail about Low Shoulder. She told him about the bowie knife—how it had come from hell via the sink hole near her hometown. She told him how she had killed the members of the band with the knife. She told him how she had enjoyed killing them. They had all died too quickly.

"Are you scared?" she asked when she was done.

He was pale, but said nothing.

"Now let me tell you why I killed them…."

Needy told him about Jennifer—everything about Jennifer: how they had grown up together, how they had played in the sandbox together, how they had played boyfriend and girlfriend during sleep overs. She told him how she had loved Jennifer; how she had continued to love Jennifer even after boys had come into their lives. How she had continued to love Jennifer after Jennifer had become a slut and after she had found Chip. Then she told him what Low Shoulder did to Jennifer, and what Jennifer did when under the control of the demon.

All the while she talked, Needy's eyes kept returning to the photograph on the desk.

As she confessed to stabbing Jennifer in the heart to kill the demon, large tears swelled up in Needy's eyes and rolled down her cheeks. No longer was this an expediency. She confessed to hating her friend for going with the band, and she especially wanted to be forgiven for this now.

"I have prayed," she said, as she slowly levitated off the floor. "I have prayed to God to undo it all, and this is how He answered me—with a curse!"

Needy was floating by the ceiling, the astonished priest looking up at her, and the picture of the haunting angel girl floating beside her.

When Needy settled back down, Father Paulson blessed her while she gazed at the picture.

"Father," she said, when he finished, "who's picture is that?"

"That's my Jennifer," he replied with tears in his eyes. "Jennifer Lazarus. Long ago, she was my girlfriend. One night, we had a fight and she made me stop the car—she wouldn't ride home with me. I didn't want to leave her, but she refused to get back in. She was angry, I was angry…."

"What happened?" Needy asked.

"She disappeared. Then three days later, they found her body dumped into a creek. They never found her head. And for a while, I was suspect number one."

"Oh, God, I'm sorry. So sorry."

"She's why I became a priest. She's why I run this mission. In our hometown, she organized her Girl Scout troop to make Christmas dinner for the poor every year. She was a great girl. I've continued her work in a most imperfect way."

Needy was furiously writing something as the priest spoke, and she handed it to him when she was done.

"What's this?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"It looks like gibberish."

After studying the writing for a minute, he took out a little mirror from his desk and held it up to the note.

"Why, it's written backwards," he said.

There was a man's name, followed by the word "murderer," directions to a hunting cabin in the northern peninsula of Michigan, and a list of female names accompanied by dates.

"That's who killed your Jennifer," Needy said in a far away voice.

"Good Lord, Needy," he sighed. "I don't think you've been cursed. He's given you a gift."

"Funny way to wrapped it," she quipped.

Needy vowed that she would never return to the institution. Reluctantly, Father Paulson collected some clothes for her, a backpack, and some personal items: a comb, a tooth brush, a watch; and he gave her as much money as he could gather. Then one night, he drove her as far from the city as possible, and let her out into the night.

"Thanks, Padre."

"Go with God, my child."


	3. Chapter 3

Rated: T [PG] for foul language and violence.

Based on characters and situations from the movie written by Diablo Cody and directed by Karyn Kusama. Original characters are my creations and completely fictitious.

The Passion of Needy by Diablo Priest

Part III

When the police searched the cabin that Needy had identified in her automatic writing, they found the head of Jennifer Lazarus and those of twelve other girls. The suspect confessed readily to thirteen counts of murder.

Not long after Father Paulson dropped her off, Needy hitched a ride with a normal-looking middle-class man, who soon exited the highway and drove out into the countryside. She didn't need her "demonic" powers to know this man was a rapist; but he thought she was the ideal victim, slight and soft spoken, and a runaway with no friends.

"Where are we going?" Needy asked him as cars, houses, and civilization seemed to be disappearing.

"It's just a little detour, a pleasant detour," he replied. But it was an obvious lie.

"I'm warning you," Needy said, "don't you touch me."

He smiled to himself at her words, not at all afraid of his elfin passenger. Needy trembled—trembled with rage as she thought of the other girls who had been in this car, especially those who had been silent victims of this suburban, middle-class monster. Needy saw all the girls clearly: the rebellious girl hitchhiking home from visiting her boyfriend against her parent's wishes, the coed who had too much to drink; the junior high student snatched from the bus stop, the young woman working late at night at a convenience store, the two teenaged friends hitchhiking home from a concert, the middle-aged woman jogging on a Sunday morning, the poor young woman hitchhiking to her waitress job—all forced, tricked, or drugged—all betrayed. All ashamed and blaming themselves for being victimized. Needy would never forget their faces, never forget their pain.

The man drove Needy to an abandoned quarry, a bleak grave-like place marked by a rusted crane derrick, standing like a cross against the gray sky. The corpses of derelict machinery and equipment littered the area. Someone had painted "hopeless" on the side of a dilapidated building made from corrugated steel. Occasionally, the breeze would kick up some dust.

Needy could smell the tobacco and coffee on the man's hot breath as he came closer and closer to her. The brief struggle was one-sided.

Her iron grip on his throat surprised and enraged him, but when he punched her in the face, she only smiled at him. A demonic smile. He was a dead man. Coiling up her petite fist, Needy punched him back. Her blows were like sledgehammers, caving in his face.

The repugnant career of the innocuous-looking rapist was over. Needy threw his body aside, sat up, and proceeded to wipe his blood off her hands. Then she looked into the rear-view mirror to clean the spots of his blood off her face. After cleaning her face, she looked over at the dead man, and shook her head.

"Fucking fantastic gift," she said aloud sarcastically. "So now I'm like fucking Batgirl or something."

She then turned back to the rear-view mirror and began incongruously primping her blonde curls.

A few weeks after Needy killed the rapist, Lt. Romano called on Father Paulson again. "Father," the cop said, "I have a question: what the fuck is going on?"

"I'm not sure I understand you."

"Sure you do. Needy Lesnicki sent me a letter a while back. Psychos are always writing letters; hers was well done—good grammar, good spelling—but it was written backwards. It contained a list of names—the names of women who had been raped, the cases unsolved. Shortly after Low Shoulder was butchered, a man was found dead off of Route 40, with his face smashed in—smashed in by a human fist that could not have possibly exerted such force. Lesnicki wrote he was responsible for attacking those women and others that we did not know about. Normally, I disregard the ravings of a lunatic, but then I remembered the call you made about that time, claiming that you received an anonymous tip about the murder of your girlfriend eighteen years ago, and how that tip led to an arrest. I, therefore, ordered some DNA tests, and she was right. That bastard was a serial rapist. Tell me, Father, how did she know that? And how did she know who killed your girlfriend?"

The priest grinned. "The Lord works in mysterious ways, Lieutenant."

"You guys always say that when you don't know the answer, but I think you know."

"Maybe she's good with a Ouija board."

"Very funny, Father, but I want answers," Romano said.

"Legal or metaphysical?"

"Both."

"The confessional is sacrosanct, Lieutenant, and that's all my vows will permit me to say on the matter of Needy Lesnicki."

"I see, I see. Well, that makes no difference, Father. We'll get her," Romano declared.

Often on the desolate open road, Needy had only thoughts of Jennifer for companionship. But, despite her confession to Father Paulson, those thoughts brought on guilt, which burned in her throat like acid. Guilt for hating Jennifer because she left the bar with Low Shoulder. Guilt for rejecting Jennifer on the night they kissed and tumbled onto the bed. How Jennifer must have suffered after being rejected by the most important person in her life. The thought of Jennifer's pain brought burning tears to Needy's eyes—she was responsible for having inflicted that pain. It mattered not that an unholy monster had been controlling her friend's body: Needy looked Jennifer in the eyes and ordered her to leave—ordered her out of her life. And Needy's guilt was intensified by thoughts of their battle, and how Jennifer gave up so suddenly, so easily, thus honoring her promise never to hurt Needy. Jennifer was more than a good friend: she sacrificed herself for Needy and Devil's Kettle. They fought the demon together, but Jennifer's love defeated the demon. Anyone other than Jennifer would have killed Needy on the night of the fire, or on the night Colin died, or at the pool, or during their final fight; but Jennifer's love for Needy, begun years before in the sandbox and sometimes faulty, triumphed over evil. The loss of such a friend was spiritually crushing. I can't go on without her, Needy thought.

Then something strange happened. At night, Needy began to smell Jennifer's perfume. At first, the fragrance was faint and faded quickly. She thought it was her imagination, but it was hope.

On a dark night with a frigid rain falling, Needy, unable to get a ride or shelter, crawled under a highway overpass for cover. Despite her superhuman strength, she felt more tired than ever before. Like an incipient sob, the fatigue weighed heavy in her chest. She dozed for a while. A tractor trailer rumbling overhead woke her up, and that's when she thought, I'll lay down in front of one and die. Before she could get up, however, she smelled Jennifer's favorite perfume again. The expensive French perfume that she had received for her fifteenth birthday. The perfume that Jennifer had been so proud of. Proud in that vauntful way that had often hurt Needy.

"Jennifer?" Needy cried out. And the perfume grew stronger. "Jennifer!"

Her friend was trying to contact her, Needy was sure. That thought saved Needy that night. And when daylight came, on the concrete pillar above her, Needy saw a heart with the letters BFF spray painted in red. Jennifer was still her BFF.

Needy could find no peace, however. One frosty night she found her way to a cheap motel; and with some of the money from Father Paulson, she got a room. She slept more restless than ever and suffered a nightmare. The dream was of the night that she and Jennifer shared those final kisses—only Needy was the demon: she bit and clawed Jennifer when Jennifer came for understanding and support. As Needy raked large strips of flesh from her with demonic claws, Jennifer flailed around screaming. Oddly, Needy's teeth were human, but she still bit off and chewed up pieces of her friend. The nightmare was so vivid, so horrible that when she awoke, Needy expected to find Jennifer's mangled corpse lying beside her. Needy, however, was alone, sweaty, and terrified.

Sitting up in bed, Needy looked around the empty, dark room. Through the walls, she could hear the noises of a copulating couple.

Needy wept.

She manged to choke off her violent sobs, when she heard the squeaking of the bed springs and a voice in her ear.

"Needy, Needy," the familiar voice purred. "Needy."

"Jennifer!" Needy could smell her friend's perfume again.

"It's all right, Needy," the disembodied voice said soothingly. "Don't cry. I know you didn't reject me. I know you don't hate me."

"Yes," Needy said. "I love you, Jennifer. But I was never strong enough to tell you. I have always loved you."

"I know, my Needy. I still love you and watch over you at night. I've found my way back to you again."

"I know!" Needy exclaimed, tears of elation bubbling up in her eyes.

As the joy waxed in her chest, Needy felt a prick in the palm of her hand. She looked at it by the light of the moon shining through a crack in the dusty drapes. There was blood in the center of her palm: it oozed out and formed a small X. Needy thought about the time she and Jennifer were playing in the sandbox, and Jennifer got a tack stuck in the palm of her hand. After pulling out the tack, Needy cleaned Jennifer's wound with her tongue—drank Jennifer's blood. Needy realized that the wounds signified a covenant: she and Jennifer were united on the highest level.


	4. Chapter 4

Rated: T [PG] for foul language and violence.

Based on characters and situations from the movie written by Diablo Cody and directed by Karyn Kusama. Original characters are my creations and completely fictitious.

Note: One more part to go. If you've followed Needy's adventures this far, look for the conclusion in about a week or so. (I'll probably have a new fic sometime after that.)

The Passion of Needy by Diablo Priest

Part IV

A short female truck driver, who had gray hair cut in a masculine style, picked up Needy near Rockford, Illinois. She did not normally pick up hitchhikers, but she had had the CB on when BigPaJoe announced "There's a cute sprite thumbing at mile 2219, couldn't pick 'er up; but it seems like she's crying."

Needy was crying when BigPaJoe drove by her, with a tailgater and so did not dare stop suddenly. It was early in the morning—cold, crisp, clear. There was a small amount of traffic; and between the vehicles, when it was quiet, when the dawn seemed almost holy, Needy could hear a mourning dove crying in a tree by the shoulder of the highway. The bird made her think of Chip, the sweet boy who had loved her; and who died by a filthy pool many months ago on a cold night. As she wept for him, she glanced among the trees for the bird, and wondered, Is he watching over me just like Jennifer.

As the big rig downshifted, Needy wiped her nose with her sleeve—she knew she had a ride.

"Where ya headin'," the trucker asked Needy as she climbed into the cab.

"West," Needy replied.

"That's a good place," the trucker said. "My parents named me Stephanie, but everybody calls me Stevie."

"I'm Ashley," Needy said.

Ashley was the pseudonym that Needy used when asked for her name. As a child, whenever she played Barbie with Jennifer, Needy always had to be the "ugly" friend Ashley. Needy thought that the name was an appropriate alias—after all, she was Jennifer's friend still.

Needy found herself staring at the old St. Christopher medal on the dashboard in front of her. "St. Christopher, eh?"

"Yeah, that was my dad's. He was a trucker too. That medal kept him safe on the road—he never had an accident. He died of a brain tumor at forty-six, but that's not Christopher's department. I hope that medal doesn't offend you or anything—he's not even a saint anymore, but I haven't had an accident either!"

"No, there's no problem," Needy said. "I have a friend who's tight with J.C."

"Hey, we could all use a friend like that, sweetie."

Stevie was a happy garrulous person, and Needy found herself liking her within minutes.

Despite her religious proclivities, Stevie was an enthusiastic listener of NPR's "Science Friday;" and she was well read—that is she listened to "Off the Shelf" on the BBC World Service and audiobooks while driving her truck around the country. She also knew some history, for her father had been a Civil War buff. Needy, who had always been a good student—brainy actually—could converse with Stevie on these subjects. The cab of the truck became a nerd paradise, and Needy had her first normal conversations in almost a year. Needy might have been an antihero on the run from the law, with superpowers derived from the bite of a demon, and with a ghost always hovering nearby; but for a while with Stevie, her life seemed normal.

Needy, wearing a Mötley Crüe T-shirt, was not eating lunch at a greasy spoon called Luke's Diner, near Kansas City.

"You've been riding with me now for three days," Stevie said. "You must be starving, Ashley. If you're short, I don't mind spottin' you."

"No, thanks. I have a peculiar metabolism," Needy said. "I don't have to eat all the time."

"You aren't anorexic are you?"

"No, no."

"'Cause you're a pretty girl."

Needy just nodded. Jennifer had always been the beautiful one. Needy was all right with that now. She had thought a great deal about her friend since taking revenge on Low Shoulder. Thought a great deal about how Jennifer had had to go through her life displaying affectations to meet people's expectations of how a beautiful young woman should dress and act. Affectations to satisfy the desires of horny boys. Needy knew now how unhappy Jennifer had been the last four or five years of her life. On the last night of their friendship in life, all Jennifer wanted was to play boyfriend and girlfriend as they had in bygone days. More than Needy, Jennifer longed for those days when it had been just the two of them in the sandbox, when it had been just the two of them on sleep overs. Just the two of them without boys. Needy now realized how much she too missed those furtive, intimate nights with her friend. Nights with touching, giggling, caressing, and kissing. Nights with love.

"Every now and then you get a far away look in your eyes," Stevie said. "What do you think about, sweetie?"

"An old friend."

"'An old friend'! You say that like you're a hundred years old."

An elderly couple, out of breath and agitated, burst into the diner.

"Dial 9-1-1, quick! There's a man out back beating a woman to death!" the elderly woman puffed out.

Some of the people in the diner, Needy and Stevie included, rushed out to the back parking lot, where the elderly couple had parked their RV. The violent scene caused everyone to stop. A woman was already a bloody mass, and a man was beating her like a pro-wrestler on drugs. Only Needy advanced. She kicked the man in his left flank, which sent him sprawling on the asphalt. As Needy bent over the woman solicitously, one of the waitresses screamed—the man was drawing a handgun. The crowd ducked and scattered. Needy leapt and kicked the gun out of the man's hand, instantaneously kicking him in the head.

C'mon, Ashley," Stevie said to Needy, "let's go, sweetie."

"Holy crap!" Stevie exclaimed to Needy, as she steered her truck out of the parking lot, "You were sensational! Like Supergirl!"

"More like an avenging angel," Needy said wryly.

"I've never seen anything like that except in the movies. Do you know kung fu or something?"

"A friend of mine, um, sort of shared, uh, a secret with me."

"Yeah, Wonder Woman!"

"I wish," said Needy. "I could use a secret identity. That guy I just kicked in the head was a cop, and you know how they can be."

"What? A cop? That asshole? No, you're not serious."

"Yes, a cop. And that was his wife. He's beat her before. Broke her jaw once. Another time, he cracked a couple of her ribs—said she fell down the stairs. He got in trouble once for tasering a woman that he pulled over for speeding, too."

"How do you know all this?"

"This sounds bonkers," Needy said, "but I have visions."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"Can you pick the lottery for me?" chuckled Stevie.

"It doesn't work that way. My ESP, or whatever, seems to be set off by violence—extreme violence. Like that cop beating his wife almost to death…."

"Let's hope you saved her life."

"…Murder, rape…I'm very sensitive to the emotions of the victims. I know what they think and feel what they experience. And then it's like I'm, um…"

"Possessed," Stevie completed Needy's thought.

"More than you know," Needy said. "And I think of my friend."

"What happened to your friend?"

"She—" Needy's next word was strangled in her throat by a fierce sob that quaked her entire body. She couldn't complete her answer. Because Jennifer was no longer alive, Needy lived with her murder every waking moment; but even with her powers, she didn't have the strength to tell of the torture Jennifer experienced, or of the pain inflicted by her loss.

"I get the picture," Stevie said. "You don't have to tell, sweetie."

Soon after Stevie's rig was rolling down the highway, cops were swarming on Luke's Diner.

Soon the professionalism of the police cracked. People heard comments such as, "That perp will pay for what she did to Jonsie."

The waitresses at the diner were the first witnesses to perceive that the cops cared more for their fallen "hero" than the woman he had almost beaten to death. Beth was divorced from an abusive husband; and over the years, she had to deal with more than a few heartless cops. The kicker, she said, wore a Hello Kitty T-shirt; her friend Sue said it was a Low Shoulder T-shirt. One of the truckers, thinking of his sister, married to an asshole who beat her, said that it was an Evil Dead T-shirt. As more witnesses became aware of the prejudice of the police, the descriptions varied even more. But who could prove that it was deliberate?—witnesses often see different things. The kicker got into a blue Mack; no, it was a white Kenworth; it had Maine plates, or South Carolina plates with a "5" or "6." Someone else said she got into a green Navistar. The people also did not agree on the direction the truck was heading, or said that they had not seen.

Perceiving that the people at the diner were trying to protect the girl who had rescued the victim, the cops lost their patience.

"Arrest us all then," Beth called their bluff. "We know what we saw—that girl saved that woman. You can't prove anything else."

"We'll get that Robin Hood bitch," one of the cops vowed.

The next day, Stevie stopped for diesel and food; she picked up a newspaper too. Needy stayed in the sleeping compartment as a precaution and ate her food there. Stevie ate behind the wheel and read the paper.

"Well, it's official," Stevie said folding up the paper. "Everything you said yesterday is true. It's all in the paper—how that asshole with a badge abused his wife. You have amazing powers, sweetie, amazing powers. I always thought shit like that only happened on TV and in the movies. But here you are, like something from a Stephen King novel."

"Yeah," Needy said. "That's me all right. A creature straight out of a horror novel."

"I didn't mean it that way, sweetie."

For miles after leaving the truck stop, Stevie drove behind a big RV with a decal of the Scottish flag on the cover of the spare tire.

It was time for Needy to lose another friend. She could not have her friend Stevie in jeopardy because of her situation and actions. At the next stop, Needy had to leave.

"I'm going to miss you, Ashley," Stevie said. "You're a hell of a woman." And she held out her St. Christopher medal for Needy to take.

"Oh, thank you so much," Needy said, "but I can't take this. I know how much it means to you."

"You need it more, sweetie."

"No, please keep it," Needy said, pulling out her necklace and displaying her golden BFF heart pendant. "I have this. My friend who gave it to me watches over me."

"The perfume."

"Huh?"

"That's why I've smelled perfume in the cab at night since you've been riding with me," Stevie said.

"Right, that's my Jennifer."


	5. Chapter 5

Rated: T [PG] for foul language and violence.

Based on characters and situations from the movie written by Diablo Cody and directed by Karyn Kusama. Original characters are my creations and completely fictitious.

Thanks to everyone who read this far—let me know how you liked the ending. A special thanks for those who posted comments—they helped keep me on track.

The Passion of Needy by Diablo Priest

Part V

Needy was alone in another shabby motel room. She sat on the bed and sighed. What will become of me, she thought as she looked around—better to have the light off. She wrinkled her nose; the place smelled funny too. Stale cigarette smoke and cheap furniture polish. She got up, turned the light off, and lay down.

She was not alone for long. She heard Jennifer enter and walk over to the bed. Ghosts are surprisingly noisy. The springs of the mattress creaked as Jennifer sat down.

"You've been a bit scarce lately," Needy said.

"You were in good company," Jennifer said. "Sometimes it's difficult for me to come through. I could never contact you in that place—the institution."

"It was a bad place, and I was in a bad place, Jennifer. You wouldn't have wanted to contact me then."

"Yes, the negative energy was strong," Jennifer said. "But I come in stronger now, don't I?"

"Yes."

"I'm still learning things. I'm sorry that you're sad because you had to part from Stevie. Maybe this little trick will cheer you up."

"_You_ always cheer me up."

"Look…"

A small ball of light appeared over the bed. Very bright.

"Oooh," Needy said, extending her right hand.

"It's not hot."

The little orb of light pulsated a few times, and then it flew around in a heart-shaped pattern. "Just for you," Jennifer cooed.

"That's cute!"

"Okay," Jennifer said, "time for sleep. I'm watching, so sleep tight."

The bed squeaked, and Needy felt Jennifer kiss her.

"That's nice," Needy said. "But it's weird being kissed by a spirit—I can't kiss you back." A tear came to her eye, and her voice choked. "I miss kissing you, Jennifer."

"One day we'll kiss each other again, Needy."

For the first time in many months, Needy fell asleep with a pleasant thought on her mind: the thought of kissing Jennifer.

In the morning, Needy found a message from Jennifer written on the mirror with one of those greasy little bars of soap:

"Love you forever XOXOXXX"

Thereafter, Needy, running out of money, found herself near Omaha at a shelter for runaway youths. In the small hours, she first smelled Jennifer's favorite perfume, then heard her voice and felt her hot breath on her ear.

"Needy," Jennifer said, "you're in danger. You must get up. They're coming for you."

Needy knew to heed the warning from her friend, she sprang up instantly; Jennifer had come through strong and clear—the warning was serious for her to break through the negative energy. Quickly Needy put on her sneakers and jacket, then scrambled to the fire exit with her backpack. The people operating the shelter had locked the doors from the outside.

"What if there's a fire?" Needy said out loud, but the locked doors were no obstacle for her.

Two blocks away, someone had stopped at a convenience store to buy cigarettes and left the car running. Needy hopped in and sped off with it. A few moments later, she heard the sirens. She led the cops on a chase across the countryside, and roared like a rocket through the one-traffic-light town of Trinity Junction. The yellow railroad crossing signs on the far end of town were a promise of salvation, not a warning. A three-engine freight train was coming on at full speed, it would cut off her pursuers, if she could only beat the train. She heard Jennifer's voice scream, "No, Needy!"

The explosion was heard for miles around. The train shattered the car Needy was driving into hundreds of pieces and derailed with thunderous concussions that shook the ground like an earthquake. The diesel from the engines and the chemicals from the tanker cars burned for three days. It was like hell. The town was evacuated, but only Needy perished. Her body was never recovered; but, several days after the fire had been put out, an investigator heard a mourning dove crying; and when he looked up into the twisted old tree where the bird was perched, he saw, glinting in the sunlight, Needy's BFF pendant. Somehow, it was not even tarnished.

Mrs. Check and Mrs. Lesnicki decided the proper thing to do was to place Needy's necklace with Jennifer. No one was certain what transpired between the girls during the last few months of their lives together, but they had been inseparable since they were toddlers; and it was thought that they should be united for eternity.

It was unusually warm for springtime, the grave diggers were wiping sweat from their brows while Father Paulson led the two mothers and a few mourners in prayer. Chip's mother and sister were there and Mr. Wroblewski from school. Stevie, the trucker Needy had ridden with, was there also. The old Polish undertaker, Bordynski, and his men stood by to unseal the coffin when the priest was finished. In the nearby trees chickadees were chirping, and a dove was cooing softly. The world seemed tranquil, almost joyous.

The priest concluded with these words:—"'And taking bread, He gave thanks, and brake; and gave to them, saying: This is my body, which is given for you. Do this for a commemoration of Me.'"

When the undertaker opened Jennifer's coffin, Father Paulson heard a loud gasp; and one of the undertaker's men hurriedly crossed himself. The priest stepped forward and looked inside. Jennifer appeared to be only sleeping, except that her arms were crossed on her chest in an old-style death pose. The sunlight sparkled off her BFF pendant. She was radiantly beautiful, her coal-black hair, shinny and silky; her complexion always pale still possessed a living glow. The most stunning thing, however, was that snuggled up with Jennifer was Needy: equally life-like and beautiful, her golden tresses scintillating in the sunshine, the skin of her nude body with a hale tone and hue.

"H-how is that possible?" the undertaker stammered. "How is that possible?"

"My God! It's like they're on a sleep over," Mrs. Check said.

"It's a miracle," Mrs. Lesnicki said.

Father Paulson said a prayer, buckled Needy's BFF necklace around her throat, and told the undertaker to close the coffin.

"Don't you have to document this for the Church or the Vatican?" the undertaker asked.

"The Lord knows his saints," Father Paulson replied. "Let them rest in peace."

The End


End file.
